


NPC Conversations

by Tub



Series: New Kyla [6]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Roleplay Logs, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-06-29 11:00:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19828786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tub/pseuds/Tub
Summary: Staldar's conversations with various NPCs held over text, outside of the campaign. These are chat logs between myself and the DM of the Kyla campaign. Very minor editing for better readability and consistency.





	1. Staldar Meets the Fangs

Staldar, carrying a single box of his personal belongings (items of honor, armor, small tokens from cadets, a few articles of clothing), makes his approach to the new lodgings, and carefully pushes open the entrance, balancing the box in his arms. To some small amount of surprise, he already hears voices.

* * *

  
The white dragonborn fighter steps into a large, comfortably-furnished living area with two additional dragonborn filling the space with their loud vocalizations, one with deep crimson scales and another with iridescent blue scales that shimmer slightly in the light coming through the windows. Both are standing, facing each other aggressively.  
  
"I've told you time and time again that the north-eastern quarters is absolutely vital to the continued well-being of my scales!" The attractive blue dragonborn exclaims with a somewhat weary tone.  
  
The red dragonborn snorts a small plume of smoke and slams a closed fist onto the oak sitting table beside the pair, and you hear a slight creak of wood as the muscled claw meets its surface.  
  
"And I got here before you, claiming that room to be mine!" The crimson figure retorts roughly, "It's the basic rules of the world - first come, first serve!"  
  
The blue dragonborn exhales an exasperated sigh and turns, noticing the new arrival standing in the doorway.

* * *

  
Staldar feels a twinge of burgeoning disappointment, and prays this is no indication of the fate of the rest of this assignment. ' _Do they even know who I am?_ ' He thinks to himself. Keeping a carefully neutral expression and voice, Staldar grunts out, "Sorry for the intrusion. Please, carry on," then begins inspecting the area, but maintaining an acute awareness of their next actions.

* * *

The living space is connected to a number of short hallways along which there are doors, presumably leading to the individual living quarters. There is also a kitchen area, well-equipped and clean.  
  
The red dragonborn opens his mouth to make another point, but is silenced briefly as his blue counterpart raises a hand to stop him.  
  
"You know, I believe that this whole kerfuffle could really be resolved much more expediently with use of a mediator..." The blue one posits, his eyes trained on Staldar, "Could you spare a moment away from the enormous amount of unpacking you'll be doing?"  
  
The blue dragonborn gestures with playful derision at the lone box in Staldar's arms.

* * *

  
Staldar glances back over his shoulder to meet the blue one's eyes, then simply places his box down where he is and turns fully. Staldar gives a motion as if to say "go on," then crosses his arms to hear their dilemma.

* * *

  
The blue one smiles fiendishly.  
  
"Wonderful, this will hopefully be brief. As a small bit of introduction, my name is Prithscillus Anguul Sharpfang, Prith for short, and this," he gestures to the fuming red dragonborn, "is Heckrum."  
  
"Hekkras," Hekkras corrects with another small snort.  
  
Prith rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Now as you can clearly see, I take the health of my scales very seriously, and do my best to make sure that they are an immaculate reminder of my wondrous bloodline. As a part of my vitally important grooming ritual, my scales must absorb the maximum possible amount of direct sunlight in the morning hours of the day. To accomplish this, I require the quarters containing the most east-facing windows so that I may be able to bask in the sun’s rays every morning. This ritual is important to my personal regimen of health, and—"  
  
"Doesn't matter how much your pretty little ass needs the light," Hekkras interrupts abruptly, "I got to the godsdamned room first, therefore it's mine!"  
  
"It's not just important for myself, it's important to the whole group! If you need me to list out every aspect regarding..."  
  
The two promptly launch back into their squabbling back-and-forth, filling the area with ruckus once again.

* * *

  
Well, that didn't take long to escalate once more. Staldar doesn’t let this go on much longer. He barks out a gruff "Enough!" and waits for silence.

* * *

  
  
Both dragonborn begrudgingly cease their speech and turn to Staldar expectantly.

* * *

  
Staldar looks between the two for a moment, then points to Hekkras. "Remove your belongings from the quarters." He then points at an empty room. "These are your quarters."

* * *

  
Prith grins and gives Hekkras a gesture toward the quarters. Hekkras stands still as a boulder, his eyes directing an aura of contempt at Staldar. Smoke lazily drifts upward from his nostrils.  
  
"What gives you the right to distribute orders to me?" Hekkras retorts defiantly.

* * *

  
Staldar, unfazed, turns back to his box, and gently picks up his medallion from its resting spot. He places it around his neck, then turns once more and meets Hekkras levely. "I believe this does." Then he points to Prith. "Don't get too excited. You are to occupy these quarters." Then points to the room neighboring Hekkras' newly assigned space.

* * *

  
Prith's grin promptly fades as he quickly comprehends Staldar's instruction. Hekkras eyes the medallion for several long moments before breaking his firm position to begin moving his possessions to his newly-assigned quarters. Prith begrudgingly follows suit.  
  
Staldar finally stands alone in the common area.

* * *

  
Staldar notes that his commands, once substantiated by rank, were not challenged and then relatively promptly carried out, so there was that at least. Staldar simply waits patiently as Hekkras and Prith move about, making sure no more argument ensues.

* * *

  
As the two bedroom-adversaries go about their business, necessitating Prith to move substantially more numerous possessions than Hekkras, a familiar olive-green figure wearing comfortable-looking loose clothing emerges from one of the side rooms, joining Staldar in the common area. Though it may take a moment, Staldar recognizes that this is Yorsashi, his companion from some years ago with the Noble Guard.  
  
Yorsashi is looking thinner and more toned than Staldar remembers, his light garb revealing much of his physique. He smiles when he sees him, clearly recognizing Staldar as well.  
  
"I thought I heard another voice! It's good to see you, Staldar. It's been so long." Yorsashi proclaims, approaching Staldar for a friendly embrace.

* * *

  
Staldar feels unexpected relief upon seeing Yorsashi, and a small pang of something strange— like taking a sip of water and realizing how deep the thirst truly goes.He swallows both of these feelings, and is immediately thrown off again as Yorsashi approaches, Staldar not knowing what to do except perform a simple New Kylan salute, placing a closed fist over his chest before the green dragonborn reaches him. "And you, Yorsashi. It seems the years have treated us well, to meet again like this."

* * *

  
Yorsashi hesitates for a moment, seeing that Staldar's salute has blocked access to his intended embrace, and takes a step back, respectfully repeating the gesture back to the tall white dragonborn.  
  
"Indeed. Blessings from Bahamut, mayhaps." the shorter olive dragonborn comments, glancing over his shoulder at Hekkras moving several long polearms into his new quarters, "I see you've met that pair already. I'm surprised you managed to get them to settle down. Their fights can last for hours."

* * *

  
Staldar suppresses a snort at the mention of the other two. "If they cause you any problems, report to me and they can be dealt with swiftly." Staldar looks at the door Yorsashi appeared from. "Have you chosen your quarters yet?"

* * *

"Yeah, it's just down the hall. I moved in yesterday afternoon, sometime after Hekkras," Yorsashi eyes Staldar's box, "Need any help moving yourself in?"

* * *

"Have you any preference for sunlight? Is your room adequately lit?"

* * *

Yorsashi raises an eyebrow. "I've been stationed in the caves at the edge of the Boros for months. Any light is enough light."

* * *

  
Staldar nods in agreement. "Yes. But I'm asking— would you find more sunlight preferable?"

* * *

"I... Suppose...?" Yorsashi replies, uncertain of what Staldar is getting at.

* * *

  
This is confirmation enough for Staldar. "Then you may have these quarters." He motions to the apparently much coveted room. "I'll help you move your things." Staldar begins to walk towards Yorsashi's current quarters.

* * *

Noting Staldar's path, Yorsashi dexterously slips past the large dragonborn and into his room. By the time Staldar arrives at the doorway, Yorsashi has discreetly slipped a few things into now-closed-and-locked chests and hands them to Staldar.  
  
"Just put them anywhere, I'll rearrange them later," Yorsashi suggests as he begins loosely packing a few more things, "I'll be right behind you in a moment."

* * *

  
Staldar gives a nod of acknowledgement before handily transferring the chests to the other room. He places them in one corner. Looking about he murmurs, "The blue one is right... This room does catch the most sunlight..."

* * *

  
Yorsashi appears right behind you, hands full of loose clothing which he hastily stuffs into the provided small wardrobe. "Oh, is that what they were on about? Prith should know that scale care has nothing to do with sunlight. It all about oil and polish."  
  
As Yorsashi begins unpacking it becomes obvious in the glow of the sunlight that Yorsashi's scales have likewise been taken care of well, and it's only his natural olive hue that keeps his own coat from sparkling like Prith's. He glances at Staldar's slightly-dulled white scales.  
  
"You look like you could bear to try it yourself, eh?" He gestures to a particularly rough patch along his forearm.

* * *

Staldar shifts his arm to examine his scales and finds Yorsashi is correct. His hectic schedule (and, admittedly, negligence) had kept him from more intensive grooming habits. Staldar gives the patch a thoughtful touch and replies, "Time seems to have gotten away from me, I had not meant to put it off for so long. Once settled I can see that it gets done."

* * *

"Let me know if you want any help with that," Yorsashi mentions casually, "anyway, I think I've got it from here. You should get yourself settled. There's only the one room left so it should be an easy decision."  
  
Yorsashi continues the transfer of his possessions, arranging things carefully into organized patterns.

* * *

"Thank you for the offer. You know where I will be should you require anything," Staldar replies, then leaves to retrieve his box and move into the now unoccupied room and begins to put away his meager possessions.

* * *

After several moments, there is a light knock upon the door frame to Staldar's room. Standing in the doorway is a surprisingly thin black-scaled dragonborn in dark robes. He gives Staldar the traditional salute, putting a fist with long, sharp claws over his chest.  
  
"Major Drachenhearth," he addresses formally.

* * *

  
Staldar looks up, then returns the salute. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Major...?"

* * *

  
"Krax, sir. Previously on assignment with the Fourth Legion," He replies, "I understand we will be working under you for the duration of our assignment together."  
  
The dark dragonborn speaks with a steady cadence, measuring each word carefully.

* * *

  
"That is correct. Should you require anything, or if you run into any problems, I ask that you report to me. Have you found the quarters satisfactory?"

* * *

  
"I have, and they are more than adequate."

* * *

  
"Good, good," Staldar states, then thinks for a moment. "I would like for you to tell the others that I expect to see them in the common area at oh-seven-hundred. We have much to debrief."

* * *

"I can certainly do that. I will see you then."

* * *

Krax holds his salute, waiting to be dismissed.

* * *

"Thank you. Dismissed."

* * *

Krax takes his leave, and his voice softly carries back to Staldar's quarters, informing the others of the white dragonborn's plans.

* * *

Staldar goes back to sorting his few items. He pulls out a little wooden, hand carved bauble, delivered to him by one of his cadets just earlier. He gently rolls the geometric 'block,' for lack of a better word, in his large, worn palm. It was quite precisely made, stained and given a slightly glossy finish. He places this on his bedside table. He feels a slight sting, something hard to identify, much like when he first saw Yorsashi emerge. He huffs and goes back to his box. "... Do I even _have_ scale oil...?"


	2. Campfire Talk

The camp has grown quiet except for a few scattered conversations among the dimmed fires. The adventurers possessing the centre cart have all gone to rest, with the exception of Staldar, the dragonborn, who remains out by the fire. There is a quiet rustling of canvas before the drow Isa emerges from her tent, looking a little weary, and quietly joins Staldar beside the warmth of the fire.

"Couldn't meditate," she hesitantly offers as she gazes into the tongues of flame, "Too many loose thoughts."

* * *

Staldar's eyes are red-rimmed and dark, but alert, watching the low flames of the campfire, shed tears long dried. Armor and sword now thoroughly cleaned of Nothic ichor, he is kitted once more, posture tired and tense all at once.

Staldar gives a nod of acknowledgement, only briefly glancing in Isa's direction.

"I find myself wary of sleep after such an unusual attack. A repeat experience seems unlikely, but I couldn't rest regardless." He pauses, then sighs. "I'm half tempted to suggest we arrange a watch, but... perhaps that's excessive."

He goes quiet. It is transparent that he is deflecting.

* * *

"There are enough eyes open throughout the night that a watch isn't necessary," Isa suggests.    
  
She pauses. It is a long and thoughtful pause as she considers her next words with the practiced experience of a life in politics.   
  
"With the consideration of the long remainder of our journey, I think it would be wise if we were honest with one another for a while," she says with a measured tone.

* * *

Staldar considers her words, then replies, with equal care.

“... Agreed. I... “ He swallows, clears his throat softly before continuing. “I should, firstly, like to apologize for my outburst. I was… crass. There’s no excuse for that.” His jaw tenses, his eyes harden. “But… I want-- I  _ need  _ to understand. For so long, I’ve had no answers. If you have them, Isa, I… help me understand. Please.”

He finally turns to her, watching her intently.

* * *

Isa exhales deeply and straightens her posture slightly in a sort of preparation.    
  
"I can answer only for what I know and have done," she predicates, meeting Staldar's gaze, "As for the motivations and actions of others, I can simply state what I have learned and observed."

* * *

Staldar nods again in understanding.

“You said the trial was the only way out… Well, aside from death. Why? What did you mean by that?”

* * *

"In order to properly explain that... We're going to need a bit more background. Maybe a lot more background," she starts, then returns to her tent briefly, returning with a flask engraved with the crest of Ilmya's tavern. She takes a long draught, then resumes.   
  
"Special Operations Unit Nine, or the 'Tiamat's Fangs' as you came to be more succinctly known, was a project started long before my time. The noble council, with the approval of our previous Praetor, wanted a single group of elite soldiers to handle particularly complex or delicate scenarios. The idea was that over the course of several decades, select groupings of soldiers would be groomed for military operation across the duration of their lifespan. Individuals from these groups were to be flagged as particularly proficient by their superiors and then grouped together into a single military unit."   
  
An expression of disgust briefly crosses her face, "In order to accomplish this goal, the Kylan Guard made deals with a number of chromatic dragons across the seas of Gaiul: A small, undeveloped brood from each of them in exchange for some items from our vaults. The Guard housed them, and began training them from the day they could stand to commit themselves to the betterment of New Kyla. You and the other four all came from these groups."

  
"With the potential of such an immense investment of time, power, information and resources into this small group of fighters, the project was drafted with a single exit strategy and no revisions. If the program were to be terminated, then following the protocol guidelines passed by the council, the members of Unit Nine were to be executed to prevent the possibility of any individual defecting to a hostile power and exposing such an intimate knowledge of the weaknesses in our defenses."   
  
"It was fucking soulless, and it made a complete mockery of due process," she comments, taking another drink from the flask and turning her gaze back to the fire, "The project was crude and barbaric. A transparent power-grab by the Council to obtain their own personal hit squad with a termination clause that gave them plausible deniability if they made a misstep with their own project. When I took the seat as Praetor and found out about this project, I fought hard in court to redact it completely and release those involved or even just amend its exit clause but the Council would not so much as consider my edits."   
  
“After some hard work and a lot of study into our military law, I found a way out. If a member of Unit Nine were to be dishonorably discharged, they would be released from the authority of the Kylan Guard and it would not cause the termination of the project as a whole. Perhaps it was not the only way out. Maybe there was an infinite variety of ways out, of which I was simply not aware. But when I found one that I knew I could accomplish, I made the decision to put it into action.”

  
“So… I framed you.” She summarizes, after such a long-winded explanation, “Well, that is not exactly truthful. I arranged for your framing. I put a particular advisor who I trusted deeply in charge of the task, but I think you understand my meaning.”   
  
She looks to Staldar once again in an attempt to read his reaction.

* * *

Staldar is silent through all of this, and is silent for some time after Isa’s answer. He feels sick and his skin crawls. He can’t contain the shudders that wrack his frame, shivers of anger and fear and a myriad of unpleasant emotions.

“Gods…  _ Gods _ …” He stands and paces a few steps away from Isa, needing to move. “It… extends so much farther than I originally thought,” he murmurs. “And our deaths could have been ordered at any moment at their behest… That’s…” He shakes his head at the thought, then turns back to Isa.

“I’ve spent so long wondering who had it out for me. I thought someone was trying to ruin my career, exact some kind of revenge on me… All this time… and I had no way of knowing.” He furrows his brow then. “Why me? Why not one of the others?”

* * *

Isa puts the flask to her lips to take another sip, but is disappointed to find nothing left. She can't meet Staldar's gaze as she considers how impersonal her process of decision had been.   
  
"Simple seniority," she responds with a dry voice, "You'd been in the system the longest, so you were the first to be discharged. Lolth knows why the rest didn't follow suit, but by that point I was no longer able to oversee the proceedings. I thought our entire plan had failed. When you showed up at my bedside... I thought the Council had finally sent you to kill me."

* * *

Staldar grimaces at that.

“I’d like to think I would have disobeyed such an order, but…” He trails off. That sentence does not bear completing. He changes topics.

“So, there were five broods in all. Do you know the fates of the rest? Do I even have a clan to speak of anymore?”

* * *

"I honestly don't," she sighs, "If you do, they're a clan in blood only. What happened to each of the broods once they arrived in New Kyla has not been recorded in a capacity that I had access to."

* * *

Staldar hums thoughtfully, swallowing something that feels like bitter disappointment. A bit calmed, working past the shock from before, Staldar sits back down, elbows back on his knees, running a hand over his tired eyes.

“This is a lot to take in. I… I don’t know what to say.”

* * *

Isa looks silently into the fire for a long while before speaking again.   
  
"After so much secrecy, so much hidden bureaucracy and petty politics dictating each of your lives..." She trails off and swallows hard before continuing, "I don't expect you to trust me."

* * *

Staldar hears this, and is quiet for a long moment. His eyes are trained somewhere on the ground by his feet when he speaks up.

“I remember the election, the exchange of power. Even then, long before we ever met, I had this… feeling, about you. My loyalty to you was different than to that of the Praetor before you. Something told me that you were different. Many things happened after that, of course. To say I never felt doubt would be a lie. Just earlier I didn’t know what to think. But… that instinct, that first impression remained. I’m glad that that intuition was apparently correct.” Staldar raises his head to look at Isa.

“You have my loyalty. You and Tosa both. Without you, I…” Staldar’s throat closes for a moment, and he has to clear his throat again.

“Thank you for your honesty. This was… enlightening. I don’t know what I could tell you, but should you want to know anything, I suppose it is only fair I be honest as well.”

* * *

Isa appears honestly surprised at Staldar's words, and has to take a moment before responding.   
  
"This may seem a bit selfish of me, but... Could you tell me about Tosa? How he's been? What he's been up to? We've been out of contact for such a long while and to think my brother organized a force powerful enough to breach the Citadel is... quite a feat to say the least. He seems to have become quite the friend to you."

* * *

A strange expression crosses Staldar's face for a moment before it goes neutral once more.

“Yes, I suppose we are… friends. Tosa, as I've come to learn, is not to be underestimated. He may be one of the most impressive men I know. He organized the Red Hand in total secrecy, developed a massive information network, forged alliances. He worked tirelessly. Even when… Well, he, ah, suffered a great loss not all that long ago. It may not be my place to speak on it. But I've never met anyone so determined.” Staldar's voice, full of admiration, drops into something more somber. “He's a good man...”

* * *

"It sounds like he's become quite the individual. Let's hope it's not too long before you and I see him again."

* * *

”Yes… let's hope.” Staldar touches one of ends of the scarf gifted to him by Tosa. It has seen better days, but Staldar has gone to some amount of trouble to keep it clean and free from extensive damage.

He goes very quiet, lost in thought.


	3. Sharing Concerns with Isa and Ilmya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set shortly after the move into the Spider's Den, after the Temple of Borok.
> 
> Staldar has some requests and some questions.

Staldar emerges from the back the Spider’s Den, dressed down in plain linens and gambeson, the side of his right palm slightly ink stained from his evening notations. The table in the corner of their room had already begun accumulating a mass of documentation, an unofficial hub of information.

The hour had grown late, young Cheeps sleeping soundly in a little nest of blankets.

He looks about the moody tavern, looking for a familiar drow or somewhat-familiar elf.

* * *

Ilmya stands behind the partially-occupied bar, idly chatting with a dark blue tiefling seated at the bar as she goes about her business. While she is somewhat busy, she bears an aura of absolute comfort as she fills drinks, takes small food orders, and engages with her customers. She is very much in her element.

Vale, on the other hand, is nowhere to be seen among the tavern-goers, nor is the disguised drow present in the back quarters.

* * *

Coming around to the front of the bar, Staldar perches on a stool, leaning forward on his elbows.

He’s admittedly not quite wholly recovered from recent events. But his mind, even as tired as he is, never quite slows. Dahlia and Amity’s tear streaked faces, nasty looking hooks latching into the bodies of his companions, fighting with every ounce of himself and still nearly falling in battle. With every close encounter, a new stake of fear embeds itself in his heart.

He needs to talk.

He rests at the bar, watching Ilmya work idly.

* * *

Ilmya notices Staldar's gaze shortly and draws her current conversation to a close. She slides over to the portion of the polished darkwood bar currently occupied by the large dragonborn.   
  
"Is there anything I can do for you tonight?" She asks with a friendly demeanor as she makes an attempt to read his mood.

* * *

“I don’t want to distract you from your work. Only, if you find yourself with a free moment, I’d like to discuss some things.” He pauses for a moment. “I was also wondering where Is--,” he catches himself with a soft cough, “where Vale is.”

* * *

"Ah, yes. She's, um... well she said she was going to meet with someone about an important matter. I'm sure she'll be back soon. I hope..." Worry briefly crosses her brow before she shakes it off. "Anyhow, I assure you that distraction is my work, my scaly friend. What would you like to discuss?"

* * *

“Ah… Well, first I suppose I want to congratulate you for opening what appears to be a rather popular business. You and Vale have been, uh, busy, apparently.”

* * *

  
  
She chuckles and runs her eyes across the current occupants of the lively public room. "I was pleasantly surprised by the quick uptake. Hell of a transition, going from a market as sparse as Mizzdrift to one as abundant as New Kyla. It's been keeping me occupied, for sure. Vale helped out a bit at the beginning, but she's mostly been doing her own thing. She's uh... not exactly cut out to be a barmaid."

* * *

This earns an amused snort.

“No, I imagine not. Her strengths certainly do lie... elsewhere.” His slight mirth at the thought of Isa attempting to hold conversations and serve drinks quickly turns into something sour. “How has Isa been, recently? Is she well?”

* * *

She hesitates for a long moment, considering her response.  
  
"Some days, she's the same as I always remembered. So full of energy, ready to go out there and single-handedly take back New Kyla. Other days... I don't know. She gets... distant. She snapped out of meditation once in the middle of the night holding me with a grip like death."

* * *

Staldar’s jaw clenches in a wince, eyes dropping to the bar. He's careful not to let his claws scratch the surface, folding his hands together in a tense gesture.

“I suppose that's to be expected. Rest does not always come easy when you've been through something terrible.” He pauses. “I… I have a request of you. I don't have the right to ask it, but I feel I must.”

* * *

"Of course, what is it?"

* * *

“If something happens to us… Dahlia, Amity, and myself…” He breathes out a long, cold breath. “Whether that means death or capture or Gods know what else, I'd like to know Cheeps has someone reliable to care for him. That… that in the worst possible scenario, he won't be alone on streets again.”

* * *

"Oh." Ilmya is taken aback, looking down at her dim reflection in the polished wood. She takes a deep breath and looks up to you with a soft smile.  
  
"...Absolutely. I'll make sure that he's taken care of, no matter what happens."

* * *

Staldar's posture relaxes just a little, relief palpable.

“... Good. Good. You two seem at least a little fond of one another. I hope that worst case scenario never comes true, but…” Staldar swallows against a tightness in his throat. “I'm not young anymore. I can't take blows like I used to. We're now dealing with things from other planes, things that make _my_ blood run cold. Every battle, I'm nearly felled. One day, it won't be ‘nearly.’”

He looks up at Ilmya with a tired, but intense gaze, sincere.

“So… thank you.”

* * *

"Of course. The kid deserves much better than a gutter."

  
She meets Staldar's gaze and holds it, eyes full of a mixture of fondness and concern. Her attention shifts back to her patrons. "Is there anything I can get for you? I know you're not usually one for drinks, but it's habit to offer."

* * *

“No, thank you, but no.”

Staldar stands, one hand subtly squeezing a twinging muscle in his lower back.

“Sleep is fickle tonight but this has put my mind a little more at ease. I should retire for the evening.” He starts to move as if to leave before turning back to Illus. “When Is-- when _Vale_ returns, please tell her I wish to speak with her.”

* * *

A semi-familiar wood elf seems to apparate beside Staldar as he finishes his sentence.

  
"Speak with me about what?" Vale inquires as she slips behind the bar and begins to pour herself a drink.

* * *

Staldar startles slightly, before deflating, a plume of steam streaming from a long exhale, hand over his chest.

“We need to speak about not sneaking up behind people, apparently,” he grumbles, leaning onto the bar again.

* * *

She smirks as she tops off a tall mug of dark ale and turns back to Staldar, taking a deep drought. "Something we can talk about out here, or do you want to head to the back?"

* * *

"I would appreciate the extra privacy. It, ah, concerns your brother."

* * *

Vale's demeanor sobers somewhat as she nods and moves through the back doors, past the kitchen, and into the back room. As soon as the door is closed behind them, she drops her disguise. Her skin darkens, her hair whitens and after a couple of seconds the Isa that Staldar once knew is seated in front of him.

  
"So. What about Tosa?"

* * *

“I've been thinking about something. When I met Tosa, some months after my discharge, when he recruited myself and some others into the Red Hand, I told him it would be unwise to trust me. Despite my Kylan armor, my remaining marks of rank, of loyalty, he chose to trust me anyways.” Staldar sighs. “By all means, at that point in time, he had no reason whatsoever to think I would willingly defect and rebel against the city-state. Unless… well, unless he knew who I was beforehand.” Staldar just looks pointedly to Isa.

* * *

Isa takes another drink and ponders.

  
"Well this was before... but definitely after the... Hm." she pauses to rub her mug thoughtfully, "Well I can tell you that I certainly didn't have anything to do with it. At least not knowingly. By that point, I'd already been... suppressed... to the extent that I no longer had outside contact. I couldn't tell you why he chose to trust you, but I know that he's always been surprisingly insightful."

* * *

Staldar looks genuinely surprised.

“Ah…”

One hand drifts up and touches where the ring rests under his gambeson.

“So, uh, you two never… spoke at length regarding the existence of the Fangs or your… arrangements?”

* * *

"I never spoke with him about it at all. My assistant was the only individual other than myself that knew about my plans for the Fangs. I really kept to myself and a few confidants while I was on the throne." She drains the remainder of her ale. "There was so much risk. Much more than I'd realized."

  
Her gaze rests distantly at the bottom of her empty flagon.

* * *

The light touch on the ring turns into a clutch, holding the trinket tightly through the thick fabric.

“Why… Why would he take that risk? I could have ruined everything. I--,” he swallows thickly, “There was a time where I was so desperate to be part of the guard again, I would have turned on the Red Hand to curry favor with them, attempt to exonerate myself.” His eyes look anywhere but Isa. “I'm not proud of that, but it was true for a time. Being discharged from the Fangs, while a blessing in disguise, was the single most painful, shameful moment of my life.” A pause. “That's… another thing I had wished to say. I want to… apologize, properly, for that night, returning from Mizzdrift.”

* * *

She waves a hand somewhat dismissively. "Water under the bridge. I'm not proud of my demeanor that night either. I was... needlessly harsh, and I'm sorry for that."

* * *

Staldar simply nods in understanding, his grip loosening.

“... It is getting late. I should turn in for the night.”

* * *

"Of course. I'll be around if you need me... probably.”

* * *

Staldar opens the door but hesitates just a moment.

“Ilmya worries for you, you know.”

* * *

Isa inhales sharply at that, pointedly avoiding your gaze. She rests a finger against her temple.

  
"...I know. I do too."


	4. Catherine, the Confidante

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Staldar seeks Catherine's insight on certain matters.
> 
> If anyone is versed in the ways of love, it would certainly be a succubus, right?

In the waning evening sun, Staldar makes his way along the riverside to the academic district, heading to the very familiar temple of Pozin. Anxiety chews at his insides, but he treads steadily on until he is in front of the gilded buildings that make up the temples.

Slipping quietly through the doors, he peers over the pews, looking about for the temple’s usual occupants.

* * *

Cien stands at the head of the temple near the pulpit, congregating with a pair of guests. Catherine, in her drow form is reclining on one of the back pews, reading a novel. She notices Staldar's entrance and gives a polite nod in his direction before turning the page.

* * *

Staldar nods back, taking a few quiet steps towards her before pausing. A spike of uncertainty drives itself through his already hectic thoughts, and he flounders, torn between simply leaving or making an excuse to see Cien or Dahlia. But he regains his resolve. He’s here to speak to Catherine.

He silently takes a seat on the same pew, sitting in a way that he hopes hides his discomfort.

“... Good evening.”

* * *

Catherine lowers the novel and gives the dragonborn a warm, disarming smile. She's quite apt at sensing discomfort, given her line of work.

"And good evening to you as well."

* * *

“How, ah, was your journey from the Underdark? It seems you arrived rather… expeditiously? I had not been made aware that you had intentions of coming to the surface.”

* * *

She places a thin bookmark in her novel and sets it down in her lap, shifting her full attention to Staldar.

"My trip was... fine, I suppose. I had to pay a pretty penny to get up as quickly as I could. And I'm not surprised you hadn't heard. I sent a letter ahead of time, but it appears that Dahlia didn't receive it until after I'd arrived for myself."

* * *

“Ah. That would explain that, then. I’m sure the reunion was a… much needed and pleasant surprise.”

* * *

"Well it was certainly a surprise. I just hope my darling is doing a little bit better, now that she's not alone."

* * *

Staldar wrings his hands in his lap, humming softly.

“She had us quite worried for a few days while we were separated, but she seems to have recovered for the most part. I’m sure your presence has played no small part in that.” Staldar sighs. “I admit, I’m here because there are things I wish to ask you about, but… I do not wish to be intrusive or presumptuous.” He looks to Cien and the guests by the pulpit. “And I worry about stray ears accidentally eavesdropping.”

* * *

"Well then, let's go someplace with fewer stray ears. I daresay you've piqued my curiosity."

She stands and leads Staldar back into Dahlia's study, currently devoid of its usual occupant, and softly closes the door behind him. She sets her book into the bookshelf he knows to be a false wall and once again takes a seat.

"So what burning question do you have for me?"

* * *

Staldar shifts restlessly from foot to foot, habitually smoothing and tugging his gambeson.

“First, I want to offer apologies for my hostility, the evening we met. At least, I think it was evening… Either way, I was standoffish when you were only trying to help. So, I’m sorry for that.”

* * *

"I forgive you. It was an abnormal first impression for me to give." She says as she watches his fidgeting, maintaining her own smooth demeanor.

* * *

“I wish I could tell you that my behavior was uncharacteristic, but… I’m slowly learning to be less… needlessly gruff. Kindness and warmth are still a bit, uh… foreign, to me.” He takes a deep breath before continuing. “Which is why I thought to come to you. That, perhaps, I could ask for some insight on certain matters.” A light flush appears on his pale face, though he keeps his face as neutral as he can. He wishes he could disappear, avoid her keen, fiendish eyes.

* * *

Catherine smiles sweetly, internally delighted and enthused by his implications. She speaks gently, hoping to coax more details out of him.

"I'm flattered, Staldar. I'll do the best I can. So, on precisely what matters do you require my advice?"

* * *

“So. Ah.” A small plume of cool steam rises from the end of his nose, struggling to find the words. “The… the feelings you share with Dahlia… What would you describe them as?” And then he adds, in a rush. “If that is too invasive, do not feel obligated to answer. It is only-- there are simply things I am trying to understand, is all.”

* * *

"Don't worry, dear. If I feel you are being too forward, I will say so." She pauses, her eyes glittering with thoughts of her love, "Simply put, Dahlia and I care for each other very much. More precisely, though I cannot speak for my little darling, it's a feeling of committed desire. I am committed to making sure that she is happy and content and loved and comfortable. And along with that, there is... desire. And desire is a force that can take many forms, some more intimate than others. Does that answer your question?"

* * *

Staldar quietly takes in her words, pondering them a bit before speaking.

“‘Loved?’ Would you call it that? Love?”

* * *

She nods.   
  
"I would. And it's a wonderful thing."

* * *

“Ah.” He clears his throat, mouth slightly dry. His stomach churns and his chest hurts. “How do you… know? Or, rather, how does one tell that what they're feeling is… that?”

* * *

"Well..." She considers "Sometimes it can be quite hard to tell, and it's a little different for everyone. When you're with someone you love, it usually just feels... right. You wonder how you ever lived your life without your love there with you. And when you're apart from that person, your insides feel upset, as if one of your organs is simply missing, and you need them back to truly feel whole again."

* * *

Oh.

“Oh…”

Staldar's heart beats fast and hard in his chest. Catherine’s description is all too familiar. He leans against Dahlia’s desk, palms splayed, trying to stifle the tremble in his fingers.

“Gods. And is it strange to feel such fear for it? Or am I as cowardly as I think I am?” A humorless smile plays at his mouth, teeth clenched.

* * *

"There's no shame in nervousness." She gently places her hands over Staldar's shaking claws. "That fear comes from a place of honesty. Fear of failure. Fear of being scorned. Fear of losing your love. All of these fears only exist because you care immensely for your love. And there's no cowardice in that."

* * *

His tense smile falls into something more somber. The touch is comforting but can't possibly soothe the ache in his chest.

“Is it not cowardly to let that fear control you? To hurt the one you supposedly care for? How… how can you love someone, want them near, but fear them and scorn them all at once?” A shaky breath. “... He was right. I'm a hypocrite.”

* * *

"Oh come now, dear..."   
  
Catherine's heart melts for the old, worn soldier in front of her and she stands, giving him a supportive embrace.   
  
"Love is rarely a simple thing. It can take time and courage. And sometimes, it all breaks apart." She exhales deeply and rubs Staldar's shoulder. "It's never too late to learn from past mistakes."

* * *

Staldar accepts the embrace but does not return it. He wants to crumble apart in her arms like soft sandstone, but instead he's granite, unyielding.

“... Is it still love if he is not the only one who occupies my heart?” He says it so quietly, to human ears it would be nearly imperceptible. “Is it greed or betrayal to feel for another what I feel for him?”

* * *

"It's a messy thing, that. It's perfectly fine to have more than one love. Loving another person doesn't mean your first love is any less real. But if you abandon the first without thought to pursue the other... There can be harm done. Both to the one you love, and to yourself."

* * *

Staldar closes his eyes, as if to stave off the thought of further spurning his paramour.

“If we continue on the path we are on, if we successfully do what needs to be done, someone will get hurt, regardless…” He opens his eyes, teeth bared, fists clenched. “I just don't want it to be them.”

* * *

Catherine is silent for a moment, considering her words carefully.   
  
"Then I'm certain you will do everything in your power to ensure that no harm comes to them."

* * *

Staldar takes a few measured breaths, slowly letting the tension ease, the frustration of the futility of the situation subsiding. He had not meant to let himself become so impassioned in the moment, and he finds himself at arms length with the tangle of emotions once more.

He cooly steps out of her reach, straightening his back, smoothing his gambeson down.

“... What would you do… if something were to happen to Dahlia?” He turns to meet Catherine’s eyes. “Our missions take us to terribly dangerous places to meet dangerous things. What will you do if she does not come back?”

* * *

Her eyes seem to briefly flicker with dark fire at the thought.

"If she were struck down, I would gather up what favors I still have in Baator and ensure that whoever harmed her would meet a fate far worse than death." she looks down, unclenching a fist that she hadn't realized she'd been tightening, then sighs. "And then I would hope to meet her again once we both surpass the mortal realm."

* * *

Staldar is a little shocked by her sudden intensity, then further shocked by the implications of her statement. He pauses in thought for a moment.

“So there  _ is _ more for us, after this life…? I-- I had never been sure…”

* * *

She looks oddly uncertain for a brief moment.

"I know that there is something. I've gotten glimpses of it now and then, but I don't know if it is the same for everyone. I can only hope that by some power beyond even the gods that we may be able to spend eternity among the stars with those we loved in this life."

* * *

“I see…”

A brief flash of something like disappointment passes over him before fading as quickly as it came.

“Forgive me, I believe I’ve borrowed enough of your time. I appreciate your… insights. These matters are still, ah, uncomfortable and unfamiliar, but perhaps now I can think on them with more clarity.” A sudden thought crosses his mind and he flushes slightly, and turns away with a polite cough. “I, uh, was given something to pass onto Dahlia, though I think it more appropriate if it come from… someone else.”

With that, he passes over the book, gifted from Gilbert, detailing the anatomy of succubi. His face darkens a smidge more.

“I deigned not to read it for fear of invading your privacy…” There’s an unspoken thought of,  _ ‘And really, I’d just rather not know… _ ’

* * *

She curiously accepts the book and pages through it briefly, pausing on a particular page for a few moments before closing it with a small smile.

"Thank you, I'll see that she gets it." She slides the book into an open spot on the bookshelf and turns back to Staldar. "Though, if you are curious, I would not be opposed to showing you my true appearance."

* * *

The heat in his face spreads down his neck, until he feels feverish and dizzy, another plume of steam rising from surprised exhale, as he stumbles to deflect.

“Th-That’s not, ah, necessary, really, I mean, I’m sure it’s, err…  _ nice _ , but, um…” He snaps his jaw shut, and inhales shakily. “No, thank you.”

* * *

Catherine can't help but chuckle lightly at the dragonborn's tongue-fumbling. She reaches up and reassuringly pats his cheek.

"Alright, then. Good luck with your endeavors, romantic or otherwise. I'll be around if you ever want to talk again, and make sure to keep Dahlia out of trouble when you're gallivanting about."

* * *

“R-right. I’ll certainly try my best… in all regards.”

He collects himself and heads towards the exit.

“Have a good evening, Catherine. Oh, ah-- I hope it goes without saying, but I would like for this conversation to be kept between us. It’s not that I distrust Dahlia. I… I care for her, but these matters are-- it’s all a bit, ah, delicate, right now…”

* * *

"Of course!" She nods with genuine understanding, "You have my word."

* * *

Staldar nods his thanks and relief. “Farewell, then.”

Staldar leaves feeling both a little better and worse for wear.


	5. After the Flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Staldar suffers from flashbacks after a poorly executed mission.
> 
> Yorsashi helps him through the aftermath.

Staldar returns to the Spider's Den with Norgol, vaguely acknowledging anyone out in the bar before heading down towards the war room.

* * *

Once it gets later, Yorsashi will come down from their room and find Staldar down there. He observes what Staldar is up to and then approaches. He’s carrying a rice bowl that he made with Isa’s help, thinking it likely that Staldar hasn’t eaten yet that day.

* * *

Staldar will look up, hearing steps coming down. He’s standing, leaning onto the table, hunched over the spread of new documents, though he hasn’t made any additional notes or marks or organized them any differently.

* * *

Seeing Yorsashi, Staldar sighs, and sits, now leaning onto the table with his elbows, resting his tired face in his hands. He doesn’t meet Yorsashi’s eyes.

“I’m afraid I have no appetite.”

* * *

Yorsashi sets the bowl on the table in front of Staldar and pulls up a seat beside you. He gently rests a hand on your back, brushing back and forth slowly.

“I figured as much... But is there any chance I could convince you to take just a bite? Isa taught me how to pan-fry the shrimp, and your body can only operate on coffee alone for so long.”

* * *

Staldar looks over, seeing the effort Yorsashi has gone to, gives a weak, very brief smile, pulling the bowl towards himself.

“Wouldn’t want it to go to waste,” he murmurs, taking a small bite. He struggles at first to even swallow, though it’s certainly a comforting sort of meal. He gets it down, and is surprised to find his appetite grow, body suddenly remembering its own hunger. He eats slowly, savoring the warm meal, and Yorsashi’s touch for a moment.

The moment of contentment doesn’t last long. He eats half before he stops, lowering his spoon, face changing from tired contentment to heartbroken.

“How can you stand it?”

* * *

Yorsashi looks on happily as Staldar manages to eat more of the bowl than he’d hoped, but his expression turns to mild confusion at the question.

“Stand what,  _ ethe-itov _ ?”

* * *

Staldar shakes his head, sad, but also angry with himself, fists clenching on the table-top.

“How can you even stand me, when I… I’m the same as I ever was. I’m still…” He trails off, searching for the words. Turning his hands over, he looks at his palms, fingers shaking with a slight tremor. “I called you ‘Major.’ I thought Cheeps, Dahlia, Amity, I thought they were my cadets. I forgot it all, I forgot everything, everything we did, h-how you— it was only a night ago, and I forgot.” He takes a shuddering breath. “I’m still Major Staldar Drachenhearth. That’s who I am. I don’t know how to be anyone else. No matter how hard I try.” His eyes grow moist, but he fights the tears, holding them back. “How can you still stand me?”

* * *

Yorsashi fits his own hands into Staldar’s, gently squeezing the large rough claws as he calmly shushes his frustrated love. 

“Because I love you, Staldar,” he starts, voice threatening to choke as well, “And you’re not just the same. I’ve seen you change and grow. I’ve seen you become so much more than you used to be, someone I’m proud to be with.”

* * *

Staldar, despite himself, squeezes back. He’s tired, eyes burning, head pounding, and before he quite knows what he’s doing, he leans into Yorsashi, burying his face into his shoulder, a few stray tears managing to leak out.

“You give me far too many chances. What I did to deserve any of them, I’ll never know,” he hiccoughs humorlessly. “I’m scared. Scared that if I go to bed, I’ll wake up alone, in my bunk, or in our garrison, or in a holding cell, or my apartment. I’m so used to ruining things, I’m so certain that one day the rug will be pulled out from under me.” He leans up, watching Yorsashi’s face for a moment. “What if I forget again, get confused, and get us all hurt? I was only barely able to keep it together until I made it back. What if it happens again, I get caught in the delusion, and I— I, I don’t know.”

* * *

The smaller green dragonborn holds tightly to Staldar, tears of his own beginning to trace down from his eyes to his jaw.

“I... I don’t know, Staldar. I don’t know what will happen,” he says, finding himself holding back sobs, “But what I do know is that there is no power in heavens above or hells below that will keep me from waking up beside you and pulling you back.”

Yorsashi stumbles, his speech broken as he is overwhelmed by his own flood of emotions.

“We... we aren’t alone anymore. We don’t have to... have to push through on grit and willpower and strength. We might break, but at least we can... can put each other back together.”

All at once, Yorsashi floods over, weeping openly as his anxieties pour out down his cheeks. He is happy to be with his love, hurt by Staldar’s own pain, and above all he is so, so tired of being alone and so, so grateful that he is not.

* * *

Staldar blinks, holding Yorsashi steady. Surprised by the intensity of Yorsashi’s own fear and sorrow, he reaches up and wipes Yorsashi’s face with the edge of his sleeve, almost shocked out of his own turmoil.

“I made you cry again,” he whispers, mostly to himself. “I’m sorry,  _ noachi _ .” He pulls Yorsashi into himself, feeling the need to console the other. “I don’t know if I trust myself, right now. I wish I could say that I’ll always find my way back, that I can overcome these things. But I don’t know. I’m not well, my mind is… I just don’t trust myself,” he says hoarsely. “But I trust you. I trust you with everything.”

He continues to hold Yorsashi, shaking with exhaustion and fear, but too thankful for Yorsashi’s forgiveness and too worried to care.


End file.
